The Alpha
by Knoxvillelives
Summary: My first chapter by chapter fic so please r and r. It's Pre-Neo. Enjoy! If you like please r and r my other fics. Chapts 8 is up. If anyone cares, please review. Sorry about the formatting, I'm crap at HTML and I spent ages pulling out my hair...so ARG!
1. SeDoc

The Alpha  
By Adam Morgan  
  
Se.Doc The quick eruptions of clicks and taps on the keyboard disturbed the silence of the small room. Against the back wall stood a desk, with a small flat screen computer on and a rotating chair under it. In this chair sat Angel, captain of The Alpha, his long gold coat looking out of the place in the almost pitch black room. His blonde hair was barely visible in the dim light that was bursting from the screen. By the door rested Crooks, a small, shorthaired man whose long black leather coat was flat against the wall, his body angled lazily off it. His arms across his chest, his gun rested uneasily over his left forearm. His shades hid the worried look that was spread across his face. His foot tapped impatiently on the rotten floor. The plain green wallpaper looked even more decrepit in the light and the tall door loomed over the room, it's flaking paint rolling off to the floor. Crook's phone rang, slicing the silence with a freshly sharpened knife, causing Angel to jolt and turn around with an aggravated plastered over his face. 'Amoena, what have you got?' 'You've been in too long, turn it off, I've got a clear signal here, if I can see it so can they.' Crooks slapped a hand over the receiver and leaned forward to Angel. 'Come on man wrap it up, Amoena says there are Agents coming.' 'Oh shit, how long have I been in?' 'An hour' 'Shit!' he turned around and manoeuvred the mouse to a position and clapped a finger down on a button, he leant over and removed a disk from the A Drive, on it was written in smeared writing, 'Se.doc'. He spun around on the chair and stood up, he was met by a confused look on his partner's face, 'What about the hard drive? Aren't you gonna wipe the thing's files?' 'Crooks?' A muffled voice came through on the phone. 'Amoena?' 'They're in you've gotta get to the roof, go now.' Crooks wrapped up his phone and tossed it in his pocket and held the door handle nervously, leaning over to Angel. 'Come on.' 'Go, I'll be there in a minute.'  
Crooks reluctantly ripped the door open and launched him self through to the stairwell. Angel was still mesmerised by the screen, frantically running through files, deleting them, half turned ready to run.  
  
************************ 'They're inside.' Roberts said, monotonously. 'How many? Six or Seven?' 'Eight. We'll have two teams, one on the stairs and one in that room. We'll have a third and fourth at different points in the building.' 'For us?' King asked, curious, with his voice still at one level, determined, casual, stern. 'Yes. Tell them to move in thirty seconds.'  
Behind them four vans opened up, four men pouring out of each, weaving between the cars and flashing lights, Roberts and King pressed their ear pieces in and watched as four SWAT teams swarmed into the Brooklyn Residential home. 


	2. The Stairs

The Alpha  
By Adam Morgan  
  
Tango Down The SWAT team were ready, the set on the stairs had each flight covered, while four men stood a wall away from them, two on either side of the door, MP5s ready, torch lights dancing on the walls. The crackle of static in there ears they were swift silent, invisible. Inside Angel could feel them at the door, he made one last desperate tap before he heard the door explode open, but he had already kicked off the desk, the chair rocking along the ground. He fired twice at the PC's hard drive before tilting himself back, getting a good upside down look at the SWAT team before emptying his clip into the first man who was standing about thirty centimetres away from him when he toppled to the ground. Angel leapt up, throwing his gun, hard, at the man standing in the door, his gun down. His visor cracked, his neck rolling back and into the wall behind him. He pushed back his coat, revealing another set of Berettas, which he pulled out before exploding forward and jumping through the wall to the right of the door. In the corridor, the remaining two men baffled as the wooden walls in front of them exploded, almost shattering like glass as the golden figure flew past, his eyes shut and his shoulders throbbing from the force. His hands rocking back and forth as his guns cracked, sending shells falling to the floor and bullets to rip through the air.  
On the stairwell, the SWAT team waited. Hearing only muffled pistol, fire they knew something was wrong. One of them stepped up a stair, angling his head curiously, when he was hit by a falling body erupting through the wall. Two shots were fired, the shells disappearing in the rubble and one of the men falling over like a sack on the landing. Nothing could be seen through the smoke and rubble, until the well was lit by the gunfire of the SWAT teamers remaining, their lights rolling around in the rubble. They hear something click, the enemies weapons, hopefully. 'Man Down, tango down I repeat Tango down.'  
Outside, King was waiting for a report. He half smiled at the news and walked over to Roberts, who seemed to be disappearing in between the red and blue flashes. 'One of them is gone, the other, I can't tell.' 'I'm not getting anything either. In or Out?' 'I'll stay here.'  
Roberts looked back up at the building, pressing his finger into his ear.  
  
***************  
  
Back upstairs the smoke was clearing, the SWAT had assumed a ready position, one on his knee and the other taking weak cover behind a stair railing, his gun poking cheekily out of the gap between two broken railings. The dust settled, the chips and shards of rubble hitting the ground. A broad silhouette could be made out, a flash of gold and a loud crack. One of the SWATs hit the floor, his gun sliding across the wet surface. The weapon dropped, the remaining man fired three rounds. He could hear the raw thud of impact, and then the impact of something hitting him. A large body had hit him, the arms flailing forward, the torso hitting him like a brick, his bulletproof vest had made a good shield for the rebel. Before he could stand up, he was crushed by a large white boot, which knocked him out cold. Angel stepped off the SWAT and surveyed the scene. 


	3. Amoena

The Alpha  
By Adam Morgan  
  
Amoena Meanwhile, the feet of Crooks were sore from running up the stairs, his breath rattling and his lungs thumping into his chest. He slumped onto the handrail, his arm drooping over the side. His head buried in his arms, he looked up, two more flights and he'd be on the roof. His eyes behind his shades were weary, mirroring his face. His eyebrows dropped. He was so tired, he looked back down the stairs, he hoped Angel was all right. He had heard the shots and the crashes, he hadn't seen his captain. He lifted his arm up and shoved his hand onto his knee to lift himself up, this was no easier in the Matrix. As he lifted himself up, the phone in his pocket rang.  
'Shit', it was too loud, if anyone heard it, they'd be up there in a flash.  
'Crooks?'  
'Amoena. Is Angel alive?'  
'Shit man you should have seen him, he's okay.'  
'What's going on?'  
'Four SWAT teams, I make two now, one on the ground floor and the other coming up the stairs, you've got to get to the roof, there's a small emergency phone up there. You can use that.'  
'Great. I'm shattered here, this is surprisingly high.'  
'Stop whinging, just go.'  
Clicking his phone down, he pressed forward, dropping the phone into his deep pockets. He slid his hand up and down the rail, looking hopefully up at each turn, before being met by a small green door in an outlet that stuck out three feet of the well. He sighed with relief and pressed his hand against it before stepping out onto the roof into a blast of cold air. He pressed forward, stopping briefly to lean on the wall and scope out the roof. Small power lines ran across, stopping to tighten themselves at wooden pylons. They were three small outlets like the on he was standing outside of. Ahead, mercifully stood a small read box on a pole, with holes marking out the distinct shape of a phone. Upon seeing this he could hear the beautiful sound of the ringing phone. He smiled and began walking towards it.  
Ahead, twenty metres behind the phone, one of the outlet's doors opened, the door shielding whoever had opened it. Instinctively, Crooks began running, increasing his speed when he saw the incoming attacker. An agent, standing just a little under six foot, his sharp suit, twisting as he reached inside his holster for his gun. His mouth contorting as he heard the phone, his eyes glinting evilly behind the shades as he aimed for the phone, but Crooks was already in mid air, holding out his hand for the phone. The bullet hit the phone as he held it to his air, the air rippling behind it, stopping abruptly to begin the fireworks that erupted from the phone as it split in the middle, it's wires exposed and sparks jumping out, escaping into the air. But, as you could see by Robert's face, Crooks had gone, his body digitising in mid air, like water almost, his facial features morphing together before disappearing into thin air. The force of his body still acting on the phone, pulling it of the set.  
  
******************  
  
Back at The Alpha, a beautiful young woman, her cut regulation short, pulled out the plug on her brother, whose face twisted as he was brought out of the Matrix. His black hair a stark contrast to his sister's short, flowing blonde hair. She smiled as she turned back to the command centre, her deep green eyes scanning the screen, reflecting some of the code that dashed across the small monitor. She brushed back her hair, that was hung over her shoulder, before reaching across to one of five keyboards that lay around her and placing her headset around her ear and across her face. 


	4. Up On The Roof

The Alpha  
By Adam Morgan  
  
Up On The Roof Angel was now running up the stairs, much faster, more flowing than his counterpart, his wisdom and age showing in his steps. He pounded forward, his hand hovering over the banister, as a backup only. His hair swung madly in front of his face, bouncing in front of his eyes. He took a brief look up and was met by an open door and a burst of fresh air. His head was pounding, the effect of looking at the screen for so long. He pushed himself through the door and stepped down onto the roof. The ground was made of small stones, shielding the thick, concrete that lay below. He looked ahead, past the shacks, past the rotting masts and into his saviour, the phone. The small booth sticking out of the ground up ahead. He ran towards it, concrete outlets flying past him, his vision bouncing with him. But as he drew closer he saw the phone, a metre away from the dial, the chord revealing the rainbow of wires. He looked ahead, he could see very faint foot steps marked out in the rocks, he looked behind, his were much heavier and distinct. He stepped over, past the phone, towards where the foot prints stopped. At least he could tell Crooks had got out, he could make out the larger footprints where he had jumped, obviously pulling the receiver out of it's box. He sighed and reached for his pone when he spotted something ahead, a tiny glint of gold or bronze, he couldn't tell. It was a few centimetres right of the footsteps. He knelt down to it, and picked it up, a small shell dented with long marks along the side like a car been keyed over and over. It was a used bullet, a calibre .50 bullet. A Desert Eagle bullet. No wonder Crooks had jumped for the phone.  
Suddenly is phone rang, echoing off the surrounding buildings that boxed in the residential home. Angel sprung to his knees and took cover behind one of the concrete outlets that led down to other, emergency stair wells. He wasn't scared, he just knew that someone might pick up the call. He pulled out his phone and clicked it up to his ear, the voice on the other end was worried, jumping over rushed breaths.  
'Shit'  
'What? Make it quick, they're gonna trace this.'  
'You don't have to worry about it. They're coming up the stairs.'  
'Who?'  
'Two SWAT teams'  
'Oh for.'  
'Listen, there's two agents, they know where you are, they've got nine floors to go, coming up the western stair set, the other team on the eastern, the emergency wells are cut off by police teams, as soon as you get down there, the agent will be there.'  
'Oh my god. Where?', his mind filling with questions, his voice was beginning to jump. 'Exit?'  
'There's plenty but you'll have to jump into the building to your right, see the eighth floor , there's an empty room, there's no phone but you can make it to the ground and there are three empty cop cars with weapons inside. From there you can get to the corner of Hutts and Feld, there's a phone, there.I'll be waiting.'  
'How long'  
'You've got thirty seconds.go.'  
  
In a flash, the phone was gone, disappearing into a golden pocket and rocking around in it's new home as it's owner ran forward, arms jumping back and forth as he powered forward, every inch elaborated in his mind. He knew he would make it. He knew it, he pictured himself bursting through the wall, shattering the window, he could make it. He approached the edge, slamming one foot as close as possible and then pushed his body up, angling it forward so he drifted into a horizontal position, his arms outstretched, pressing his head in. In a flash he was in, the window exploding, shards of glass erupting into the room. The flash of gold rolling out of the door with the force of his jump, into the corridor, dusty, dirty and coughing. Briefly smiling as he raised his hand, covered in dust to stop his cough sending another cloud of sawdust into the corridor. Briefly snatching at a purchase on the wall, the Alpha captain glanced briefly down at his coat, it was no longer gold but a horrible yellow. He stood up and looked back at the room he had disrupted, a small boy was now standing in the doorway, his blue pyjamas stained like his own with the yellow sawdust, his eyes wide with disbelief, his toothbrush dangling from his mouth. Angel laughed before running immediately right, then back again, no stairs. 


	5. Back Outside

The Alpha  
By Adam Morgan  
  
Back Outside  
Agent King had been after the Alpha for a few months, chasing their rarely available signals. His suit was like all the others, sharp, uncreased, his earpiece half dangling over his shoulder. His shades revealing nothing of the deep unchanged eyes behind them. His face clam and controlled between the masses of jumping, worried faces. A voice crackled in his ear; Roberts had seen the broken wall and was coming back down. In three seconds, Roberts was there, replacing the SWAT officer who was preparing his Benelli to King's left. Normally, an Agent would not try this, the crowds would see, questions would be asked, but this was too good to be true. They had the captain of the Alpha, one of the most notorious rebels going, trapped in a building, with the information of their next target, if they could stop them getting to someone else, it would all be worthwhile, and killing the captain of a ship would be an added bonus. But the Agents' faces hid their enthusiasm, their programming forbade it.  
Angel was in another cold room, the door tight shut, a small rotting sofa standing in front of it, a make shift lock was all he had. He glanced anxiously over the window frame, if anything there was more activity than before. Secondary units prepared their weapons, two floors below, the cars lights brightly spinning, sending awkward shadows across the wall, the hum of activity as the residents of the building were rounded up and out of the building. He could hear Policemen walking up and down the corridors, collecting people from their rooms as the SWAT teams prepared a second sweep. Clapping his hands on the window sill, he looked for a possible escape, he was certain he could make it to the car on the far side of the road, it was empty and lead straight off into the road where he could make a turn for Hutts and Feld. He could see the butt of the Shotgun between the front seats, he shouldn't need it.but if he did, at least it was there. He thought for a minute, pacing the room, acknowledging all possibilities, the agents wouldn't see him if he jumped over them. If he focused, and remembered he could do it.he would make it.  
  
*************  
  
King was still anxious and threw questioning looks at Roberts, who was beginning to doubt that their target was still in the building.  
'They found no one.'  
'He's in there.I know it.' Roberts took one last scan of the building before turning round to silence King. 'These men found nothing because they are useless.he'll be here. He can't get out any other way, we have men on all exits.'  
'But he got through your first team alright,', a hint of satisfaction in his voice as he saw he was right. Roberts frowned; looking past Kings shades and sensing his fear.  
'Just.wait.' A strong pause between the words, his voice hiding his doubt. He didn't look back at the building, he instead stepped in the direction of one of the vans that was filled with men preparing themselves for the sweep, if he had turned he would have seen the captain of the Alpha recoiling at the sight of the two agents that lay at his escape root. He could hear the cops walking back up the corridors, a final check on the door before they knocked it down, just in case. His mind racing, he decided on the route, walking back as far as he could go without stepping on the furniture that stood at the door, he pressed his back against a disgusting, rotting sofa. He shut his eyes and whispered to himself.  
Knock, knock. As the cold hands hit the door, the Alpha captain was gone, fist first out of the window, his legs trailing behind straightening out for a second, clipping the frame as they flew past. For a moment, he was horizontal in mid-air, his head shut off behind his arms, resting in his shoulders before he threw his arms down, almost across the street, flying over the lights, the yells and threw his legs around into a somersault. His feet pounded into the wall, separated to control his landing, he stood on the vertical wall before springing back out, bullets zipping past him as he launched himself into a back flip, his body in a ball over a SWAT van, the air rushing behind him as he crashed down, his feet slipping on the metal, onto a Police Cars bonnet. He rolled over, firing at two police men with his last Beretta, before tumbling into the seat, his impact shattering the window showering a confetti of glass into the front seats of the empty car.  
He fumbled awkwardly for the wheel, slamming his foot on the accelerator, the agents coming around the corner of the blue van, their guns raised, their eyes widening as they saw the car, spin off to the corner, retrieving bullets to the back windows and trunk. Angel barely had time to pull hard on the wheel, he was fumbling for the shotgun, setting it by his side as he rolled off the road, knocking a Postal Box's contents all over the window and into the car. A shower of blue, red and white fell in the car. He could hear only the enormous revving of the engine, a wild animal that he was controlling, spinning dangerously around the road. 


	6. Road Rage

The Alpha  
By Adam Morgan  
  
Road Rage  
The wheels skidded erratically under the car; Angel's odd movements on the wheel sent the car flying as he scrambled amid the letters and parcels that were littered on his seat and face. The pedal was against the floor mat, the car moving forward at an astonishing speed, the long road allowing the engine to go at full throttle, but no matter how fast he went, they would catch him. He had cleared the best part of the letters and had adjusted himself on the seat, wriggling a bit, taking glances in his mirrors, puzzled looks flashing on his face, watching the lone biker weave in and out of invisible traffic. He spun back and peered down the road, he knew the area well, eight more blocks then a left and he would have only three more miles to the phone. He was beginning to get worried, the Agents should be here by now, he looked down to the shotgun. It's tiny grip poking out at him near the handbrake, he looked down for a second, bringing up to his lap. When he looked up his eyes were met by two dark shapes, sunglasses, three metres away.  
The cars collided, Angel's bonnet crumpling on the impact, Roberts being thrown back across the seat, his shades erupting in front of his eyes. Angel flew out the front window, his knee catching hard on the wheel before he rolled, letters sticking to his arms, over the two bonnets, the shotgun clipping on the crumpled metal, he landed on his front the shotgun raised at the window, a huge bunch of rounds shattering the window and flying through the back of seat, rupturing the leather and the programming of King. Roberts was still fumbling out of the side window as a second shell hit their bonnet, their original cases hitting his side. Angel groaned, rolling the shotgun to his left, onto the road in between the two cars. He followed it, reluctantly, landing roughly on his side as the high buzzing of the bike approached.  
The small flood of light, a circle hovering on the ground in front of the bike, approached quickly, weighing his odds, Angel stood up, gripping his shotgun. The bike began a turn away from the wreckage when Angel burst forward. The biker gasped inside his helmet as a huge foot pressed into his side, followed by the force of an entire body as he rode directly opposite the wreckage. Angel had kicked him right off his bike but had timed it badly, launching himself onto the other side of the road, narrowly missing the biker, as he lay sprawled on the floor. The bike rolled on for a second before wobbling and toppling to the floor, the blue paint leaving a large scratch on the floor. Angel took one last look at the biker, he knew what was coming. He grabbed his shotgun off the floor and limped forward, clutching his side as he came closer to the bike.  
Balancing his weight over the body of the bike, he swung it up and threw himself onto it, kicking down on the pedal, a huge rattling buzz coming from the tank underneath him. He leant forward, his second foot coming up off the ground and at an angle from his body, the perfect riding position, as the bike lurched into life. He sped off down the road, the man a few metres behind him groaning, his helmet hurting his neck, as a burning sensation over came him, his body twisting inside him, his mind exploding with pain, his eyes and face, contracting and lurching forward as he reached for his Desert Eagle and fired three rounds at the bike ahead. 


	7. Home Straight

The Alpha  
By Adam Morgan  
  
Road Rage  
The wheels skidded erratically under the car; Angel's odd movements on the wheel sent the car flying as he scrambled amid the letters and parcels that were littered on his seat and face. The pedal was against the floor mat, the car moving forward at an astonishing speed, the long road allowing the engine to go at full throttle, but no matter how fast he went, they would catch him. He had cleared the best part of the letters and had adjusted himself on the seat, wriggling a bit, taking glances in his mirrors, puzzled looks flashing on his face, watching the lone biker weave in and out of invisible traffic. He spun back and peered down the road, he knew the area well, eight more blocks then a left and he would have only three more miles to the phone. He was beginning to get worried, the Agents should be here by now, he looked down to the shotgun. It's tiny grip poking out at him near the handbrake, he looked down for a second, bringing up to his lap. When he looked up his eyes were met by two dark shapes, sunglasses, three metres away.  
The cars collided, Angel's bonnet crumpling on the impact, Roberts being thrown back across the seat, his shades erupting in front of his eyes. Angel flew out the front window, his knee catching hard on the wheel before he rolled, letters sticking to his arms, over the two bonnets, the shotgun clipping on the crumpled metal, he landed on his front the shotgun raised at the window, a huge bunch of rounds shattering the window and flying through the back of seat, rupturing the leather and the programming of King. Roberts was still fumbling out of the side window as a second shell hit their bonnet, their original cases hitting his side. Angel groaned, rolling the shotgun to his left, onto the road in between the two cars. He followed it, reluctantly, landing roughly on his side as the high buzzing of the bike approached.  
The small flood of light, a circle hovering on the ground in front of the bike, approached quickly, weighing his odds, Angel stood up, gripping his shotgun. The bike began a turn away from the wreckage when Angel burst forward. The biker gasped inside his helmet as a huge foot pressed into his side, followed by the force of an entire body as he rode directly opposite the wreckage. Angel had kicked him right off his bike but had timed it badly, launching himself onto the other side of the road, narrowly missing the biker, as he lay sprawled on the floor. The bike rolled on for a second before wobbling and toppling to the floor, the blue paint leaving a large scratch on the floor. Angel took one last look at the biker, he knew what was coming. He grabbed his shotgun off the floor and limped forward, clutching his side as he came closer to the bike.  
Balancing his weight over the body of the bike, he swung it up and threw himself onto it, kicking down on the pedal, a huge rattling buzz coming from the tank underneath him. He leant forward, his second foot coming up off the ground and at an angle from his body, the perfect riding position, as the bike lurched into life. He sped off down the road, the man a few metres behind him groaning, his helmet hurting his neck, as a burning sensation over came him, his body twisting inside him, his mind exploding with pain, his eyes and face, contracting and lurching forward as he reached for his Desert Eagle and fired three rounds at the bike ahead. 


	8. The Dojo

The Alpha  
By Adam Morgan  
  
The Dojo  
Four Pillars stood directly opposite each other, supporting a long wooden walkway that looked directly over a vast padded floor. The Paper walls and wide door around the outside and end of the dojo let a few rays of dim light enter the room. A short shadow pointed towards the door, cast by a lone figure, in a tranquil stance, controlled breathing, hands raised, feet pointed, back arched, eyes shut. His pointed black hair stood like an eagle over his head, a single, thick lock of hair dropped over his nose, his mouth open slightly, letting a tiny stream of air pass through his lungs. His loose fitting black robes sagged, revealing his shoulder and part of his arm. He wasn't incredibly well built, but he was intensely strong. For a long time, they thought he was The One. Adam Lennon stood perfectly still, his side still aching slightly, in his very own stance, in his very own martial arts style. He used guns very little, preferring to fight his way out of a situation than use a firearm, he was one of the few people to have survived an encounter with an Agent, he was greatly respected by his crew and the people of his city. A legendary fighter under a legendary captain, Lux of The Alpha had been injured for two months, training himself back into shape to return to duty, fighting the same man every week. The man who had freed him, the man who had told him of the Prophecy, the man who had just opened the doors and was standing at the opposite end of the Dojo in his traditional black robes. 'Morpheus.' Lux's eyes opened slowly, looking straight at the man who had trained him, set him free. 'Adam. Are you ready?' 'How is he?' 'Mouse? Mouse is fine. He wrote a new training program last week.' Morpheus knew what Lux had meant, and smiled warmly. 'He's fine.' 'Do you believe you have found him?' Lux still stood still, his arms raised above his head. 'Yes.' 'How old?' 'We are not sure. We think about twenty five, younger than you were.' 'Will he resist?' 'I do not know.', there was an uneasy pause. 'He is The One, Adam.' 'I believe you.' 'We will free him next month, I have not yet told the Commander.' 'Why?' 'You know why. How is Amoena?' A smile spread across the men's faces. 'She is fine. How is Niobhe? Still playing hard to get?' 'That has passed.' The Captain of the Nebuchednezzer looked away. 'You still love her?' 'Let us begin.' 'Are you ready?' Morpheus smiled, nodded and took a long, deep breath. With that the two men broke from their positions into new stances, tracing odd patterns in the air with their hands, their legs rigid, their chest blown up, their eyes set on each other. For a second their stared each other down, then ran at each other, their feet pounding on the floor, fists raised. A block, a block, a thud. Their hands flew in carefully timed darts backwards and forwards, taking the impact of a shot and then pulling back to deliver a blow. Morphues shins took several shots, weakening his stance, his hands collided with Lux foot and whipped round it to pull his opponent upwards who spun timelessly in mid air and landed with a crash on the floor, the padding offering no protection. Morpheus back another few metres towards the door. Lux stood up, coughing slightly as he steadied himself for another assault. The floor bounced with his steps as he angled his stomach and chest downwards and slammed his hands down into a cartwheel, his body whipping round in mid air to form a somersault before landing three metres in front of his mentor, slamming his hands back to the floor, pulling his body into a round off, his legs arching round so he landed backwards. But before he was even half way round, a hand grabbed his robes and threw him away from his spin. In two seconds he was on the floor outside, his back smashing through the paper walls and tiny wooden supports, his eyes meeting Morpheus' as he was thrown out of the dojo, the darkness of the night sky shrinking his irises as the dirt on the floor crept into his robe, rubbing against his back. He wriggled frantically as a pain ripped down his back. He tossed his body up into a sitting position, wet patches of mud sliding down his robes. A large raindrop of mud had formed on his shoulder, which he flicked aside, leaving a finger line through its centre. He looked back up to the dojo, a large hole had been made in the doors and two feet in front of him lay his original impact point, deep and already filling with water. The doors slid open, splitting the hole into two awkward shapes, the light from inside casting a rectangle onto the floor and revealing the beautiful red wood on the steps of the dojo. In this light stood a long shadow, tall and broad it made it's way down the steps. 'Hmm.', Morpheus smiled. 'Need help?' 'No.', grunting, Lux clambered up, sweeping his hands down his robe, mud slapping on the floor. He couldn't look Morpheus in the eye. He was angry now, he thought he was ready and, dammit, he was. He knew he could do it, he just wasn't trying. He hit his head, a large blob of mud dripping onto his hair. He was focused and he knew he could win. 'Again?' Lux's answer came in the form of a straight right to Morpheus' jaw, knocking him back, up the step. This was a mistake, the step gave Morpheus the height to leap up and hook his foot round to throw Lux off balance, setting him up for a low roundhouse to the thigh. Lux was caught off guard continually, retreating, being pushed back until they reached a tall redwood bridge that lay over a tiny pebble river. Lux pressed his back against it and managed to claim a few metres of Morpheus' ground with some hard shots. Then, as Morpheus readied himself, Lux was up, his back foot powering him off the bridge's supports, he flew forward, his legs in a split kick, and caught Morpheus with two swift kicks and then an instant sweep. As Morpheus fell in mid-air to the floor, Lux was back up and kicked a field goal into Morpheus stomach. Lux's breath hung heavily in front of him, he thrust his hands in front of him for another attack as Morpheus got slowly up, his black robe dripping with near invisible mud. He almost smiled, 'Excellent'. Lux was feeling better but was still angry with himself. Lux ran again at his opponent and launched himself into a clumsy but powerful flurry of low kicks and medium shots. Whenever his opponent even tried to respond he was blocked and hit repeatedly. The rapid combo was finished with a straight kick into Morpheus' throat that sent him in the air and still he wasn't done, Lux leaping up to kick him a further ten metres ahead and back towards the Dojo's stairs. Feeling bad instantly Lux ran to the Dojo and helped up Morpheus, who in between grunts and groans seemed to be positively beaming at Lux. 'Well Done.' Not quite sure what to say, Lux smiled back. As they looked out at the destruction, when a sudden jerk erupted through their navel as their mind rejoined their bodies and they awoke, onto rusty old chairs and chewed rags under the heads, home. 


End file.
